


Love Will Save You

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-14
Updated: 2008-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for a slashfest@LJ prompt from clippedwings' [request: <i>Star Wars AU where Patrick finds out he's a Jedi Knight and Pete's going a little dark side. Can Patrick save Pete before he's lost him to the dark side forever?</i></p>
    </blockquote>





	Love Will Save You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a slashfest@LJ prompt from clippedwings' [request: _Star Wars AU where Patrick finds out he's a Jedi Knight and Pete's going a little dark side. Can Patrick save Pete before he's lost him to the dark side forever?_

Patrick knew exactly where he would be. They had always been connected, partly by the Force and partly by something else that had made Patrick's master very uncomfortable when they were at Praxeum.

"You need to focus, my Padawan," Master Sen-ja Qao would tell him in that implacable voice, wide brown eyes fixed on Patrick's guilty face. "Pay attention to me. Do not let Pete distract you."

"I'm sorry, Master," Patrick would whisper, face hidden by the hood of his plain brown robe as he knelt on the soft grassy ground and tried to concentrate, feeling Pete's amusement reach in to wrap around his mortification. Master Qao's lips would tighten and with a slow, downward motion of his palm, he would block most of Pete's intrusion.

Now, Patrick opened up the mental doorway of his mind, just a little, and felt around. Overhead, the smallest sun of Astelaire 4 was hidden by the biggest moon that orbited the planet, an eclipse, for the other suns were shining on the other hemisphere. The massive green plants that depended on light were now withdrawing into the dark earth, for a cold twilight had crept towards him as he made his way to the caves ahead, which were dark, forbidding eyes sunken deep in the faded-brown hillside. The air seemed murky, as if he was swimming in filthy water. He squinted up at the eclipsed sun, and looked away after a few moments, the image of that black disc with desperate flares curling around it burned against his retinas. It was a lucky thing he had protective shielding over his eyes.

Pete was in one of these caves, he was almost sure. He stood very still, robes flapping in the freezing wind that had sprung up. He inhaled and imagined himself tossing a sturdy rope into any one of the caves, a length of rope like those his father had crafted on his home-plant, very thin and impossibly strong. In his mind, the rope lay like a _parta_ snake lying limp and curled on the dark ground, waiting to trick its prey into passing close enough to be devoured. There was a long pause... then the rope went taut, dragging Patrick, guiding him into one of the medium-sized caves.

Patrick allowed himself to be led into the shadowed entrance of the cave.

* * *

The last time Patrick had seen Pete face to face was at an open meeting in the Grand Audience Chamber of the Praxeum. Pete was facing the entire Table of Elder Masters, staring down at them from a floating lectern. The Table looked stern and Pete, obdurate. Patrick sat beside Master Qao in a higher and less important level, leaning almost all the way over the edge; from this angle, he could only see the stubborn line of Pete's jaw, shards of black hair escaping from under the red hood of his robe.

"I understand," Pete gritted out. "But I don't agree. I only wanted to learn as much as I could."

"Not all knowledge must be learnt," an Elder said gravely. Patrick recognised him as Master Daya, the Jedi who had come all the way to the collection of conical dwellings that Patrick's extended family had built, convincing his parents that he, the smallest and palest out of all their sturdy children, was worthy to become a Jedi. He had been very young at the time, and had been afraid of Master Daya, with his stooping posture and interrogative eyebrows; but Master Daya had been very kind. "The knowledge that you were investigating, that of the Nuremen, is dark, and though one would think they have control over it, it is the other way around."

Pete shook his head, gripping the railing of the lectern until his hands were white. The style of the day dictated that the sleeves of his robes only came to his elbows, therefore displaying the decorative symbols of his people, black ink that declared the names of his ancestors and personal triumphs. He looked much more slender than usual, Patrick realised. Haggard, gaunt.

"A Jedi must learn all he can," Pete was saying and Patrick snapped his attention from Pete's arms to the side of his face again. "No knowledge is dark, only the user."

"You might be correct," An Elder at the very end of the Table spoke up almost casually, but the entire meeting stilled at his voice. Master Skywalker sat with his hands folded on the surface of the Table, looking at Pete with an unreadable expression. "But because something might _seem_ right, does not mean it _must_ be delved into. This is what the Force tells us."

"And, the Force has never been wrong?" Pete's voice rose to the high, arched ceiling, followed by shocked whispers. Pete's question was nigh sacrilege and the Knights were not pleased.

"Our ruling still stands," another Knight declared, a woman with a regal expression and purple-mottled skin. "For your disobedience, Pete Wentz, you will be placed under the punishment of this school, exclusion and confinement for two cycles, beginning at tomorrow's Yavin-rise. This hearing is dismissed."

Pete's floating lectern returned to its niche and with a twirl of red, he had exited from it into one of the many halls curving away from the Chamber. Patrick chanced a look at his master.

"Go after him, if you wish," Master Qao said mildly. "I expect you at the evening meal."

"Thank you." Patrick dashed out of their curved booth and did not notice Master Qao's dismayed expression, strange on his normally placid face.

Pete was blocking him almost completely, but Patrick went directly to his rooms anyway, and knocked on the dark wooden door. It opened to him soundlessly and Patrick entered the dimly lit rooms, which was appropriately large for an apprentice at Pete's level. L-shaped, the shorter side was right in front of the entry and dominated by a long desk, upon which small machines and tools lay scattered; in the longer section of the 'L', a round, sunken area was positioned near tall windows, and a small bed was pushed up against the opposite wall.

A slender silver robot stood almost completely motionless in the corner near the desk; only two of its six arms were moving, playing a stringed instrument with great accuracy. Patrick made a face, peering at the rapid movement of its fingers. The music was very correct, but cold.

"I hate it too." Pete's voice came from around the corner, near the windows; he considered Patrick out of the corner of his eye. His head was bare, hair purposefully wild. "I don't know why I bought it from that trader."

"It's not bad," Patrick lied.

Pete stretched out his hand and the instrument floated out of the robot's arms and hovered in front of Patrick.

"Play," Pete said, in that commanding manner he had. His eyes appeared more amber than usual, bright as a cat's. The dark line he used to enhance his eyes was smudged under thick black lashes. "I like it when you play. When I'm in isolation, I'll remember you playing for me."

Patrick hesitated, and then gathered the wooden body of the instrument in his arms. He looked around, and walked over the sunken area which was filled with an assortment of pillows, in bright colours and odd shapes. Floating a few around, he descended into the space and made himself comfortable right against the smooth wall, settling in with the instrument on his lap. He plucked a middle note and commanded the instrument to tune itself to that. He bent his head, and began a song, playing with measured strokes of his hand.

The hood was pulled back slowly from his head and warm breath tickled at his ear. Patrick faltered, knowing that Pete was kneeling on the higher floor at his back, leaning down to press his mouth against Patrick's skin.

"You agree with the Knight-Council," Pete said, voice low and hard. "You're on _their_ side?" His hand rested heavily on Patrick's other shoulder, palm warm, thumb stroking a hot, slow path from that dip right below Patrick's ear to the hollow of his neck. Patrick shuddered and tried to concentrate on the music.

"It's not about sides, Pete. It's about wrong and right."

"I expected you to say that, I really did," Pete mused, and then took Patrick's earlobe in between his teeth briefly. "Always following the proper teachings, black and white, no grey area. Obedient little Stump!" He gave Patrick's ear a leisurely lick. "I don't know why I love you."

Patrick stopped playing, fingers frozen like the rest of him at Pete's statement. Pete chuckled and then tangled his hands into the thin strands of Patrick's hair, slanting Patrick's head to one side so that he mouth could explore the pale curve of his neck.

"If you don't know," Patrick said shakily, "then why do you do this?"

The stringed instrument was wrenched from his damp grip and returned to the impassive robot, which stepped back into a small closet that opened in the wall behind him; the wall became seamless once more.

Patrick, however, did not notice any of this, as Pete was climbing down beside him, turning to throw one leg over him, the way one would clamber over a speeder-bike, knees pressing at the outside of Patrick's thighs. Patrick found himself with a lapful of sharp, sardonic Pete, whose face was so very close; his smile seemed blurred, as if it was caught between two shapes.

"I do this because I can," he stated, amused and dipped his head even closer, watching closely as Patrick's lips barely parted, almost unwillingly. Pete surged forward in a rough kiss, hands cupping around Patrick's face as his tongue slipped inside Patrick's mouth.

It was almost automatic for them to close off their minds, entwining their thoughts with each other's, for a Jedi was not supposed to... become _involved_. Master Qao had given him dire warnings concerning Pete, but Patrick wasn't sure how he was supposed to resist Pete's fascinating personality; most of the other Jedi seemed dismayed by Pete's wildly varying moods, which could swing from ecstatic to contemplative to darkly brooding within moments. His mind was an anomaly, one that intense training could not fashion into a stable stream of thought.

Many times, Patrick would catch Master Skywalker regarding Pete with the expression of one who was trying not to bring up a distressing memory. His hands would flex, fingers twitching before he would move away, walking silently. Master Skywalker was a powerful Jedi, but now fairly old. Apart from Patrick, he seemed to comprehend Pete in a way that the others could not.

Pete's hands were plucking at the cord that criss-crossed at the neck of Patrick's robe and Patrick felt panic build in his chest; he tried to shove Pete away, but Pete just pressed against him even more.

"We shouldn't… we can't," Patrick moaned as they struggled together. Pete rolled to one side and carried Patrick with him until they were sprawled across the pillows. Patrick tried to move from atop Pete, maybe to scramble across the soft, plush surfaces and flee, but Pete wrapped around him like a vine, strong thighs gripping along his hips, arms slung around his shoulders. Pete laughed as he thrust his hips against Patrick's, feeling hardness growing between them.

"There is a world of difference... between _can't_ and _won't_ ," Pete panted as they writhed desperately against each other, Pete's hands grasping onto Patrick's robe and pulling it up with the soft shirt underneath, pressing harsh nails into the soft skin of Patrick's back. Patrick's groan had the timbre of a scream and he found himself coming hard enough to see laser-flashes behind his eyes.

Pete was smiling lazily up at him. _We're going to get thrown out of Praxeum_ , Patrick thought as he kissed him again.

* * *

Patrick walked into the cave without stumbling, led by his mental rope. On the other end, Pete was pulling slowly, guiding him with snaps and twitches to warn him of any pitfalls in the long shadowed room of the cave.

Master Skywalker had sent him to retrieve Pete. It had been an order, actually.

"Pete has filled most of his consciousness with Nuremen, despite all our precautions," Master Skywalker had said as he stood by the windows of the comfortable rooms that also served as his offices. "He has a formidable mind," he mused with pursed lips. "One of the most complex I have seen in years." He turned and fixed Patrick with a steely stare. "For some reason, he connected directly with you from the moment you were brought here. I wonder why that is?"

"I don't know, sir," Patrick had muttered with a tinge of embarrassment, eager to climb into the star-fighter and find Pete. "I'm nothing special, anyway."

"Oh?" Master Skywalker's face was still hard, but his eyes had softened. "Maybe that is the kind of thinking that attracts our arrogant Peter," he said softly, and Patrick felt his skin grow hot, thanking the suns that his hood was pulled low over his face. "Be that as it may, what we hear as a whisper from Pete's mind is a great cry to you, right?"

"I think so," Patrick said uncomfortably. Master Skywalker just gazed at him. "Yes... I'll find him, sir, and bring him back."

"Do that," Master Skywalker had said, folding his hands within his long, wide sleeves. His face, full of deep lines, became even graver. "Find him or stop him. Please. I feel that losing him completely will be a great blow to us."

Now, Patrick picked his way through the vexed rocks, pressing one hand against the crumbling wall.

* * *

Patrick was seven when Master Daya took him from his sleepy home planet to the lush moonscape of Yavin 4, to live and be taught at the Praxeum. He didn't remember much, apart from the fact that most of the other students had a habit of skimming over him, eyes lightly disregarding until they sat beside him in small groups to learn history or duelling.

Pete, however, seemed to target him almost exclusively.

"Let me show you how to do this, it's all in the wrist," Pete would say with a bright smile, yanking the mock-saber with a thought out of Patrick's sweaty fist and twirling it quickly after he caught it.

"I can do it!" Patrick would cry out, stomping one foot before tackling Pete, a skinny boy on the brink of teenaged years, who allowed himself to be carried down to the ground by a furious child while laughing wildly. "I want to do it myself! You always mess things up!"

"Patrick," Master Qao would admonish, pulling them apart with a turning motion of his hand. "You must control your temper."

 _Let me in, I'll help you with the circuitry in the handle_ , Pete had begged from outside his door when Patrick had locked him out and struggled with the construction of his light-saber. _I know this really easy way to put in a solid over-ride sequence, it'll shut off the laser if anyone else but you touches it._

 _Go. Away_. Patrick had been hunched over a nearly completed handle, remaining elements scattered on the soft rug where he was kneeling; his eyes swimming with exhaustion. _I have to do it myself. Why do you always do this?_

 _Do what?_ Pete's mind touched gently with his, like a gentle stroke of cool fingers against fevered skin. Patrick had thought that this was a normal occurrence, that all Jedi could read each other's thoughts with such clarity, but Master Qao had explained that this was not usually so.

 _Always harass me. Don't you have anything better to do?_

 _Actually, no_. Pete's thoughts were amused on the surface and something else underneath. Patrick had sat back on his heels, rubbing his eyes. He tried to burrow back into Pete's mind, to find out what was floating under the delight like a body under ice, but Pete curled into himself, a mental ball of thoughts that seemed to be prickly and smooth at the same time. Patrick could not find a proper hold, nor prevent himself from being pricked as if with long needles. Suddenly incensed, he sent this out to Pete, all of it, battering against him.

He felt Master Qao's concern filter through his rage, a cool reprimanding shade against the heated flush of his anger. Patrick ceased immediately, knowing that he would receive a lengthy lecture as early as possible in the morning: "Patrick," he could almost hear Master Qao say in exasperation, "what have I always told you about your temper? You _cannot_ allow Pete to goad you like this, you simply _must_ contain your emotions."

He just _knew_ Pete was laughing at him and he gritted his teeth, returning to his saber.

* * *

There was a sensation of spaciousness over his head; the roof of the cave had climbed up to a curving height as it opened out into a massive cavern. Striations in the rock were visible as steady blue light snapped on, emanating from lanterns that were placed along the walls. In the middle of this large space, someone sat cross-legged on the ground, hands pressed together in front of the hidden face, as if in prayer.

There were long scrolls of thick, brittle paper floating everywhere, a shocking quantity. Hundreds of them bumping against the walls, the stone ceiling, each other. Yet, they were not as inanimate as he thought they should be. For one, they were not floating under Pete's control, not at all.

The scrolls were alive.

"The Library of Nuremen," Pete spoke up from his oddly penitent position, hands still clasped. "The entire knowledge of a race, right here." Pete's head shifted; in the untrustworthy light, his eyes looked like holes in his head. A mad, desperate sheen flowed over them. Patrick almost thought that Pete looked... _frightened_. "I know so much."

There was a hum; Patrick was actually quite surprised to see he had activated his light-saber and pointed it straight at Pete, who tilted his head and smiled.

"Now I know how to manipulate every jumping electron in your saber, and shut it down. Now I know how to shift molecules in your heart and stop it. But I won't stop your heart. Why should I, when it belongs to me?" Pete chuckled as if he had made a particularly good joke. "All this, the Jedi Knights did not want me to discover. Would you like to know why? Because with it," and here he leaned forward, whispering secretively, "I could be greater than any one of them."

"Is that all that's important to you?" Patrick said softly, stepping forward; the scrolls tried to dip close, to touch him with their malevolent presence, but Patrick waved them away. Pete stared at him, trembling, his eyes still unsettlingly dark. He rose to his feet and his saber flashed to life as well; before Patrick could blink, Pete was upon him.

Pete had always been faster than he was. Pete had been levels above him when he started at the Praxeum; he had even taught Patrick in quite a few duelling sessions. Everyone said that Pete was a creative person, that his every move was fuelled by unpredictability. One never knew what he was coming up with from one moment to the next.

"Why did you come when they sent you?" Pete ground out, body moving in a fluid dance that Patrick could hardly keep up with. " _Why_? Just… go back! Go away!"

"Not without you!" Patrick spun away from him and used up the one advantage he ever had over Pete.

He sent his mind straight into Pete's, drilling in with that tenacity that Master Qao had always encouraged; he placed every ounce of himself in the action as he tried to fend off Pete's quick slashes and jabs.

"Get out of my head," Pete snarled and Patrick kicked him squarely in the stomach, floating himself back and away as Pete swung at him. There was a sharp crackling sound and the smell of ozone; Patrick felt something strike him in the shoulder, pain bubbling along his collarbone and up his back as he dropped to the dusty ground.

Someone screamed; he was sure it wasn't himself, and he actually proved it by letting out a hoarse cry as Pete gathered him close, hand pressing against his neck.

Pete was murmuring something unintelligible and those cursed scrolls were moving even closer. Patrick rolled his eyes back and looked into Pete's face. It was shocking at this proximity, without the shadowing of the hood: the skin appeared loose and it _moved_... as if there was something rummaging underneath, sharing his body. The scrolls were almost upon them.

"Don't!" Pete cried, and bent his head close to Patrick's face, hair brushing against Patrick's forehead. "Don't! I'm giving you what you want, don't take him! Not him!"

 _What_ , Patrick tried to say and he was struck again, but this time by two very vivid memories....

 

 _Do you love me? Pete is asking him as they walk in the gardens. He is looking at the flowers and Patrick is blushing. I know, you're going to say that we're not allowed, but that won't stop the truth._

 _I do, Patrick says after a breathless moment and Pete stares at him, as if he does not believe._

 _One day, Pete says, very slowly, but with a dawning grin. You might have to use that to save me._

 _You and your emotions, Master Qao says in exasperated fondness. I keep telling you about control and now I am thinking that control is not your path at all. Maybe, Patrick, you will be a Jedi for which a lack of control is the greatest source of strength._

 

...and he let everything out, the bottled despair at Pete's desertion from the Praxeum, the want and love that bloomed in him whenever Pete had smiled his way, his confusion at the dark presence he had just sensed in Pete's head, which was part Pete and part _un-Pete_ ; everything, everything, outward and upward; he smiled as the scrolls started to burn and the cave began to collapse.

* * *

"Welcome," Master Skywalker said. "Welcome home," he clarified, as if that was all he could let out.

The hooded figure shifted on the low bed, shoulders sloped in a mourning arc.

"One day... you may find your loss will serve you well," Master Skywalker continued softly. A few beats later, there was a slow nod of the covered head. "I will leave you to rest."

As the door sealed itself behind the great Jedi Master, Pete sent his thoughts, walking and searching, as far as his strength would manage.

As before, as from now on, there was no answer from Patrick. None at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Some information was gleaned from the [Star Wars Wiki](http://starwars.wikia.com/)


End file.
